


I Fooled Around (I Fell In Love)

by impossiblesongs



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Death, F/M, M/M, other pairings happen but shh spoilers, this is a really morbid start I'm evil I know just stick with it pls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-02-22 04:15:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2494055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblesongs/pseuds/impossiblesongs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> There was nothing dim or dark about the weather today. The sun was high in place and the world continued to turn seemingly without tragedy. It’s not the weather one expects to be met with on the day you bury one of your best friends.</i> - Merlin is a bestselling yet uninspired author living in the US who needs a change in his life. Tragedy brings him back home and an old friend offers him a teaching job. </p><p>(Because there are so many HighSchool!AUs and not nearly enough CollegeTeacher!AUs)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Natural Disasters

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not my characters. This has been a disclaimer.  
> AN: Title from Elvin Bishop’s [Fooled Around And Fell In Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J4fhzMxT3tg) because the [GOTG soundtrack](http://www.buzzfeed.com/alisonwillmore/why-the-guardians-of-the-galaxy-oldies-mixtape-is-one-of-the) is all I listen to these days. No beta, unfortunately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was short (and to be honest I'm not sure I should be posting this) however if I don't lose my bravery and continue to post this I'll try my hardest to make future chapters longer.

**prologue :** _NATURAL DISASTERS_ ;

 

                There was nothing dim or dark about the weather today. The sun was high in place and the world continued to turn seemingly without tragedy. It’s not the weather one expects to be met with on the day you bury one of your best friends. If the universe were the least bit decent it would allow some sight of misery to wash through the clouds until they were as grey and dull and lifeless as befit a world that no longer had one Lancelot Du Lac in it. No such luck.

Merlin arrives early in the service, not wanting to make an abrupt entrance and be noticed. He hopes to hide away in a corner but Gwen is ever attuned in her ways and she spots him the second he gets there. She takes him into her arms and when she says his name it’s a breathless, broken _thing_. So unlike her it is that he can barely remember how to work his lungs; in and out, in and out – but how does one breathe like this? When it hurts….

It hurts so much that he can’t much feel her lingering embrace, but that’s okay because he reckons she’s not quite all there herself either. One wouldn’t be, he supposes, losing the love of their lives and all.

More people show up; friend, family, colleagues, and on and on it goes. This bright, awakened nightmare. Merlin watches Gwen carefully, too carefully, cataloguing her every expression and tucking it away without meaning to. It’s one of the things he hates about being a writer. Any living thing is of observatory purpose and no circumstance is off limits. Eventually he’ll make exploit of them on a blank page. Every gesture Gwen makes is without true presence, she holds herself up like a hollow queen left holding onto a silent castle. He disgusts himself.

He’d gotten her call long before the sun had come up, the states being on a different time and everything. It hadn’t been a bother since he’d been awake anyway, writer’s block made him an insomniac. His survival existed of anxiety and frustration. After hanging up the phone, he booked a flight straight home and left his publisher Gwaine a scribbled note to find when he woke. The barmy bastard would’ve wanted to tag along had he not and Merlin did _not_ need that happening.

Truth be told he should have gotten new representation the moment Gwaine’s trousers came off, he knows this, but old habits and all. Besides, the man could be impossibly persuasive when naked. A little bit of Irish never hurt anyone either.

As the service continues Merlin has a good think over the last time he’d seen Lance. Their last meeting had not been face to face. It had been via webcam for Christmas holidays.  From the moment he opted to live in New York he’d never really felt a rush to come back to the UK but Lance pressed and prodded, trying to persuade him to come back home for the festivities but he’d declined, just like every other year that passed. 

_What are you keeping away from, Merlin?_ His friend had asked him, a desperation to the question that Merlin felt unable and unready to even attempt answering.

So much had happened from then to now and so little he’d yet to come to grips with, there was so much, too much. So he’d lied.

_Nothing_ , had been his answer. S _oon,_ he’d promised. 

Soon however had come too late.  

He realizes now that what kept him away was the fear of home. It sounds strange, to fear the comfort that comes along with such a word, but he had, and he did. He feared returning to face the missing pieces of what used to be his family, to notice what lingered, of what didn't. To see up close and personal what new brand of emptiness had taken to filling up that space his loved ones once fitted so snuggly. He had not wanted to be faced with how far those losses extended directions in his universe. The resounding ghosts of his father and his mother, his Uncle Gaius, of his once lover Daegal - this is what he'd feared to encounter upon coming home. No one and everyone.

Now, standing at yet another gravestone, it looked to be less and less of home was waiting there for Merlin to come back to. Damn.


	2. Dry Land, Sinking In The Quicksand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gathering for the grieving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Chapter title from [the Noel Gallagher song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rx7I4_9c3wI), because I'm unoriginal that way.

 

**one :**   _DRY LAND, SINKING IN THE QUICKSAND ;_

 

                Most of the family members head home, respectively, at the end of the service. Gwen and Lance’s friends however head back to the home they shared as husband and wife for drinks. Merlin would have slipped out and away before anything could be asked of him but Gwen can be very perceptive of his intentions when she wants to be, almost better than Lance was. Had been. She holds onto his arm, frequently reaching, making sure he’s still there, not once letting him out of her sight.

“Come,” she begs of him, as if he had a chance at refusing. Merlin nods once and lets her lead him to her car, lets her cling. She’s so desperately trying to hold onto something, he knows that feeling intimately.

Leon, Gwen’s second in command (in a manner of speaking), follows after them like a kindly shadow. Merlin, observant as he is, senses the unrequitedness in their relationship. Leon’s crush is palpable even with eyes closed. The man is sweet, though, Merlin must admit that.

This Leon character is dotting on Gwen but not overly so. He’s respectful. Loyal. Ever the gentleman. Merlin can find no true fault to the man other than he has his eyes on a woman recently widowed. He could like Leon, given time. For now he’ll settle on liking how Leon claims Gwen’s attention so very effortlessly, freeing him of such duties for several seconds at a time. It’s impressive.

Arriving at the Du Lac household is odd and misplaced without Lancelot there to join them. His things are still everywhere. Indents of the person he was mark every inch of the home yet he is nowhere to be found. Echoes and memories lie everywhere, all around. The area seems discarded and lonely and there is too much quiet. Merlin makes a conscious choice from the second he gets there to skip introductory beers and dive right into the hard liquor. He sits himself away by himself for the time being and watches quietly, drowning out his own grief as the house fills with the specific people invited over.

A woman introduced as Morgana arrives. She’s glamorous, for a teacher. She’s the head of both the Maths _and_ Chem department. Merlin hardly believes such a creature of perfection exists but there she is, drawing the attention of any eye in her vicinity in the most pleasant of ways. Elyan, Gwen’s elder brother, pays a visit but he is not there to stay. They share a few words before he’s out of the house again, Gwen seeming even tenser than before when the conversation is over. One of the Head Coaches of the footie team at Gwen’s school drops by. Percival, his name is. He’s sweet and shy and absolutely ginormous. Merlin’s tempted to ask how much the bloke benches just to see if he would balk at being hit on so shamelessly, but he’s still sober enough to contain himself. For now.

It’s an entirely different scene by the time the last of the guests shows up. Merlin’s gone from holding a glass of whiskey securely in hand to nursing the entire bottle. It lies haphazardly on his lap, his fingers gone bruising tight around the neck. There must be at least thirty people stuck in the room but only few catch his interest. For instance: Blond beauty - or so his alcohol filled brain dubbed one of the strangers at first sight, he’s very unoriginal with words when attempts to get pissed off his arse are in play. Merlin’s eyes trail after the blond man while he takes a healthy swig from the bottle.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Guinevere.” He hears blondie tell Gwen, making direct eye contact with her before pulling her into his arms for a hug. A bit too forward for Merlin’s tastes….

“Thank you, Arthur.” He hears Gwen mumble into the fully broad shoulder.

They’re close, Merlin realizes, what little sober part of him left feels a bit abashed for eying the intimacy of their display so eagerly. 

“Lance was so very fond of you.” She tells this Arthur fellow upon pulling away from the embrace.

“God knows why.” Morgana interrupted, a wry smirk turning up on her beautiful face.

This so-called Arthur turns his attention to the raven haired woman and rolls his eyes ever so dramatically.

“Oh, the harpy is here, is she?” the comment is made snidely, and there is a bit of pettiness behind it, but Morgana seems to light up at the tone of voice blondie is throwing at her regardless. The remark also garners some laughter to be had amongst the guests.

Gwen slaps Arthur’s arm lightly, the hidden hints of a smile threatening to overtake her lips. “Be nice.” She reprimands fondly.

“I’m _always_ nice!” claims Arthur, affronted. His eyes dart around the room, landing on Merlin for a quick second and flashing with uncertainty before they settle their way back to Gwen.

“Can you just fill a glass and shut up for the rest of the night?” Morgana suggests brazenly, waving her drink in hand.

_Fabulous_ , Merlin muses at her perfection with a sigh, _downright fabulous._

Arthur seems unamused by this but he shrugs his coat off and accepts the glass of Brandy passed his way nonetheless.

“Very well,” Arthur then raises his glass. The small crowd in the sitting room gathers about, hushing up immediately and looking at him with bright, waiting-to-be inspired eyes. Now it’s Merlin’s turn to roll his eyes, which he does.

“A toast.” Arthur’s posh voice fills the room without fail. Merlin reckons right then and there that Arthur’s probably the type having been born into authority, the type of breed which seeks entitlement as if owed instead of actually earning them. The entire prospect makes Merlin more depressed than before and he lowers deeper into his chair with a scowl.

“To Lancelot,” Arthur continues, “the noblest man I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. We will hardly find a man of his like in this lifetime or any other. He not only became one of my truest and closest friends but also my brother in all but blood. I will miss him until my dying day, as better you all.”

The room heartily agrees with Arthur’s little heartfelt speech but Merlin feels a very real chill sweep through his skin and settle deep down into his bones. He releases his vice-like grip on the bottle, letting it fall to the floor. Not quite sure how he manages, he’s up and out of the room in quick but shaky strides. His sense of direction is a bit shot but his body leads him out towards the back of the house and he exits right into the backyard. The air and change in scenery hits him like a slap to the face and he stumbles, his back thankfully coming in contact with the hard surface of the house with a jolting slap.

He blinks, shuts his eyes, breathes, almost chokes. _He_ was supposed to be Lance’s truest and closest friend. Lance was _his_ brother in all but blood. Did someone else take his place in Lance’s life?

“Merlin,” Gwen’s voice is quiet and lost. Her eyes are dim and her face looks paler than should humanly be possible. _Is she a ghost now too?_

“Shit,” he mutters, swaying side to side helplessly. “Sorry, Gwen. Was in the needed of some fresh air. It’s a bit too crowded inside.”

Gwen nods but it’s just a shake of her head really. She’s just as detached as he is.

“I’m sorry.” He offers, shaking the intense feelings of jealousy away from himself. He has to at least attempt to be selfless in her presence. It’s what a good friend would do, wouldn’t they?

“He _loved_ you.” And her voice breaks. Tears start to fall. It comes naturally to extend his arms out toward her and let her hide away to cry on his shoulder. She’s shaking like a leaf when she pulls away, sniffles a bit, but she’s exhausted most of her tears. Gwen then insists on introducing him to everyone. The horror of it. He nods though, glad to be less than sober, and then proceeds to let her.

“Merlin’s a writer.” She tells her friends.

Gwen speaks with such a pride of his latest. The big bestseller with talks of being turned into a film by a famous Hollywood director, he feels like absolute shit for how he loathes that particular piece of work. Of all his novels so far and it had to be the one with the least amount of heart put into it that’s hit in the market.

Everyone else in the room is delighted, of course. He gets a bunch of _ooohs_ and _ahhhs_ , but at least no one uses the old ‘That’s on my bedside right this second!’ line. He accepts the compliments he receives with a not-so-convincing smile and a dazed little nod of his head.

“Can you imagine if you lectured at our college?” Leon wondered aloud during all the fuss and Morgana’s eyes went wide at the idea.

“Oh, you simply must!” she cried out, her hand clutching at the top of her chest.

“Actually, that’s not such a bad idea.” Gwen agreed, biting her lip and turning speculative. “You could even teach.”

“Erm,” Merlin coughed into his hand. “No. I don’t think so.”

“But you _could_!” insisted Gwen. “You have all your certifications! More than enough, actually.”

“Except I’m not a teacher.” Said Merlin, rubbing the back of his neck distractedly.

“You’ll be more certified than our current Head of English, I can assure you that.” Leon muttered into his drink.

“Yes!” exclaimed Gwen brightly. “All we get is complaints from Cenred’s students.”

Arthur chooses this as his time to comment, though his voice is bland and his entire expression uninterested. “He’s a vile sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen.”

“That really is all we need.” Gwen turned her frown in Merlin’s direction, bottom lip jutting out. “Oh, please, pretty please say yes, Merlin! Just for a couple of lessons!”

He so does resent how Guinevere could probably plead for bloody murder and still manage to look like a saint while doing it.

 “Oh, she’s practically levitating off the floor and glowing!” supplies Arthur, unhelpfully – in Merlin’s opinion. The blond prat then waves his hand in Gwen’s direction, “You should just say yes and be done with it. It’s the least you could do for her, today of all days.”

Everyone is staring at him. He’s too busy glaring at Arthur, rendered speechless by being put on the spot so rudely.

Reluctantly, Merlin tears his eyes away from Arthur and they rest on Gwen. She looks absolutely taken by the idea, managing to plead at him without uttering another word.

Double-damn.


	3. (I'm Not Dead) Just Floating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin calls his publisher to let him know of his sudden new teaching plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Chapter Title from [a song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TWvnm6yb_jE) by Pink.

**two :**   _(I’M NOT DEAD) JUST FLOATING_ _;_

 

                “You’re _what_?!” Gwaine practically screams into his ear over the phone.

“Yeah,” Merlin winces, pouring himself yet another cup of coffee. Sixth cup actually. It’s midday and his head is still pounding from the night before.  “I was drunk,” he explained, “and surrounded by expectant, grieving people… you try it.”

Gwaine then proceeds to laugh his ear off and Merlin hangs up on him after that. It seemed a good idea to phone Gwaine and let him know of the situation, the man was in charge of his career after all. It was the nicer thing to do, there’s no question about that. Merlin didn’t have to and honestly, he doesn’t need anyone laughing at him right now.

Agreeing to teach at Gwen’s college is something he’s been cringing about since the second he’d said ‘yes’. He’s avoided thinking about it and he will continue to do so until he actually has to do it. It’s not particularly a method he’s proud of but that’s the solution he’s worked out so far and he’s sticking to it. He’ll have to wake up at a proper hour and everything. It’s enough to make him want to throw up again.

Sighing, he takes a drink from his cup and dreads it some more. Why not? His day is free anyway. Gods, he’s going to be rubbish at it. If only Lance were here to….

Oh. Right. The forgetting. That happens quite a bit, Merlin’s noticed. He’ll start dialing in his cell, Lance’s number, and it’ll ring once or twice, and then he’ll remember. No one will answer his phone call. Lance is gone.

He sets his coffee aside, no longer in the mood to stomach anything other than air at the moment, and he just sits. Merlin wonders what it would be like to be completely vacant of feeling. Were it possible, would he feel better for it? Would he simply feel nothing? Would that be worse?

His phone starts buzzing. It’s Gwaine.

“Yeah,” he answers, instead of a ‘hello’.

“You hung up on me.” Says Gwaine by way of greeting. He doesn’t sound angry about it either.

“I did.” Merlin agrees.

“That was rude.” Gwaine tells him, so distractedly that Merlin has to wonder what (or who) he’s doing.

“You’re rude.” Merlin replies.

“So you’re really going to do this then?” questions Gwaine. “Teach?”

Merlin sighs into the phone. “I’ve got no real choices here.”

“You’ve got loads of choices, Emrys.” Says Gwaine. “You just don’t want to be a prissy little bitch out loud, so you’re being one in quiet.”

“Fuck you too.” Merlin spits out.

Gwaine’s chuckle is soft in his ear. “Now, now, pet. You know bad teacher is a kink of mine, don’t start if you don’t plan on following through.”

Merlin’s helpless to the grin that brings out in him. “You are shameless.”

“Always.” Gwaine mouths back. “By the way, how’d the burial go? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

“I do mind.”  He says, truthfully.

Gwaine sighs on the other end. “I do care about you, Merlin. I want to know that you’re okay.”

Merlin bites his lip. “I know. And I am.” He lies. “Okay, I mean.”

“And aren’t you always?” Gwaine responds, sounding sadder than Merlin likes. “Listen, with all this nonsense about teaching, I’ve got to clear your schedule then. I’ll call you when it’s done.”

Merlin is met with the dial tone.

 

 

 

 

                He meets Gwen for lunch the following day, just to go through the basics.

“Alright,” says Gwen, sorting through the piles of papers she’s brought with her. His face must be telling because she smiles one of her warm, comforting smiles and gives a pat to his hand. “It looks more hectic than it is, I promise you.”

“Bloody fantastic.” Merlin mutters beneath his breath, sinking further into his seat and brooding.

“Oh, don’t pout, Merlin!” Gwen begs him kindly. “It only makes you look more adorable and we both know the universe cannot sustain that.”

He chuckles, despite himself, admitting, “I have missed you.”

Gwen’s smile falters, a break in the happy-go-lucky façade. “We missed you too.” She looks away. Her hands stop moving over the documents. Stillness. Silence.

“You’re different.” She says, eventually, when she’s gotten over the immense tragedy of how using a simple little word like ‘we’ is no longer applicable in her life now that her husband is dead.

“It’s not in a bad way,” Gwen babbles on, “or maybe, perhaps it is. I’m not sure. I can’t say, really. I don’t know. But you have. You’ve changed.”

Merlin nods at her assessment. “People change.”

He sees it in her eyes, the way she’s trying to comprehend it. He remembers looking in the mirror and doing the same. Change. It can leave you gaping in the face of it sometimes.

“I’m still me.” He reassures her.

The smile is back on her face. “Of course.” Gwen slides a few papers across the table ready for him to sign. “You should know by now that you’ll never manage to get out of being our beloved Merlin, no matter how hard you try.”

“Comforting.” Merlin says, accepting the pen she hands over and signing on the dotted line.


	4. The Dreams We Have As Children Fade Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Morgana gossip like old-age gossip girls while Merlin visits family and friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hilarity and sadness, they go hand and hand. I suppose I should give a warning for language and acts of religious blasphemy. Chapter title from the song _Fade Away_ by Oasis.

**three :**   _THE DREAMS WE HAVE AS CHILDREN FADE AWAY ;_

 

                Somehow, Morgana got one of the college funders to dole out some extra spending money for her department. Arthur doesn’t want to know how, he (and his sanity) don’t need those sordid little details floating around in his brain, only now he is the one stuck helping Morgana place this new equipment in her room. She’s humming some annoying tune while they open up the various boxes delivered to campus that morning. It’s probably one of those good-for-nothing songs they play nonstop on the radio, he assumes. Her taste in music is utterly dreadful.

“So what do you think of this Merlin bloke?” he wonders to his half-sister aloud.

Morgana stops humming and turns around to look at him. A peculiar smirk is on her face and her eyes narrow dangerously.

“Why, dear brother,” she says, velvety soft, “are you interested?”

Arthur cringes. “Oh my god, no! Get your head out of the gutter, you harpy!”

Morgana snickers nastily and Arthur chucks some Styrofoam from inside one of the cardboard boxes at her. Decidedly ignoring those bewitched comments of hers, he continues. “I’m just left wondering if this is a good idea. Gwen is grieving and you shouldn’t make big decisions when you are in such a state. Job decisions especially.”

“Gwen is a big girl.” States Morgana. At Arthur’s glare she hurries to concede, “But I see what you’re saying.”

Arthur nods in thanks.

“However, this is temporary.” Says Morgana, a grin spreading on her face. “And he’s supremely cute. _And_ he’s a writer.”

“Alright, alright,” Arthur snaps, “don’t get your knickers in a twist while I’m in the room. It’s really disgusting.”

Morgana’s smile only grows wider. “You should show him around when he gets here.” She suggests. “Show him your big auditorium that they gave you this year. Big shot music teacher that you are, maybe you can offer him a private show. Maybe you can show him how to play your instrument.”

“Mor _gana_!” Arthur cries, a tad bit scandalized. He’s never one to shy away from a bit of over-the-top (and fairly inappropriate) teasing, especially from her, but they are in a classroom for fucks sake. It’s not teaching hours but this _is_ a place of teaching. Has she no shame?

_Obviously not._

Morgana throws he head back and laughs and laughs and laughs. Arthur simply can’t stand for that.

“I don’t know why you’re focusing on me anyway.” He skillfully diverts. “You’re the one with the student/teacher relationship drama.”

At that, she stops laughing immediately and her eyes dart to the open door at the edge of the room.

“I have done no such thing!” Morgana protests, hurrying to shut the door. She locks it too.

 “Oh, _please_ ,” Arthur grins, happy to have ruffled her feathers. “You and that dark haired kid, what’s his name? Mordred, is it?”

She’s practically seething now. “I do _not_ fuck my students, Arthur Pendragon!”

“But you want to.” He points out, matter-of-fact.

Morgana turns all shades of red before his eyes.

“Shut up!” she grits out, lamely.

Now it’s his turn to laugh and laugh and laugh.

 

 

 

 

                Merlin ends up at the cemetery, eventually. Visiting, or more like loitering if he’s honest. Everyone is here now. His mum, his dad, his uncle Gaius, his best friend Will, his once lover Daegal, and now… Lance. He makes the usual rounds while he’s there.

First his mum and dad. He doesn’t know what to say to them, so he doesn’t say anything. Will and Gaius are not far off.

He comes around Will’s headstone first and it is covered with something overly religious. Merlin cringes away from it as if being burned. Leaning in closer to see the small Jesus figure, Merlin chuckles at the irony. Oh, Will would have absolutely hated it. He makes sure no one is around before ripping away the Jesus figurine someone has left on the grave, betting on it being one of Will’s overly religious aunts.

It’s always a bit funny how things change when someone dies. And by funny, Merlin means fucking ridiculous. Alive, Will’s aunts and uncles thought him useless and gone in a bad way. They’d always mouth off about him whenever they could, especially when he was in the room. Dead, however, he’s a fucking saint.

“There.” Merlin says, once the action of blasphemy is committed and the item is tossed well away. While dusting the dirt from his hands onto his jeans he can practically hear Will thanking him profusely for such a favor, a joint hanging from his mouth as it always was back in those days. “You’re very welcome, old friend.” Merlin replies, “But this is what you get for overdosing at nineteen.”

Gaius was his next stop.

“I miss you.” Merlin reveals, “I miss you the most.”

Merlin pauses before heading towards the direction Daegal is buried. He feels he doesn’t really have the right to go there, going as he wasn’t the best… whatever they were. Daegal deserved better and that’s just plain factual.

“Looked up your name the other day.” Merlin tells the headstone. It looks to have wearied from the years that have passed but that could just be Merlin. “ _Dweller by the dark stream_ , says one. _Dawn_ , says another. If names did really mean anything, both would fit you nicely.” Merlin sighs, kneeling down and letting his fingers trace over Daegal’s name. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make you happy either.”

He saves Lance for last. It’s harder than he thought it would be, walking up to the space Lancelot now resides. Standing there… it’s actually real now. Denying is no longer an option, which Merlin has been guilty of.

“Just had to join the family, eh?” Merlin says to the headstone, somewhat bitterly. It garners no response. “I, uh, I kind of got myself in a bit of a predicament. You know, the usual stuff I get up to when you’re not around to stop me.” He bites his lip and eyes the engraving of Lancelot’s name on the stone piece, feeling a deep resentment building towards such a thing existing in the world now. He pushes on, admitting, “I’ve got to teach at your wife’s college come this Monday and I have absolutely no idea what the fuck I’m supposed to do. Me and a room full of eager, human minds. Gods, did I really used to be like that too?”

There is nothing but the wind and Merlin glares.

“You really had to go and die on me, didn’t you?” he accuses.

Nothing, not one sound emits from the space around him.

“I’m sorry.” Merlin whispers, barely a sound in itself, and he is sorry.

He’s sorry for not coming home when Lance asked and not being more honest about what was going on in his end of things. He knows Lance tried to help him and he wouldn’t let himself be helped, and he knows that killed Lance more than anything in the world ever could. So Merlin says it now, pointless as it seems, because he knows Lance will hear it, wherever he is now. Because Lancelot would.

“I’m so sorry.” He repeats again, and just barely has the strength to keep himself from collapsing onto his knees. He stands there, letting the grief that’s nestled so deep within him add on another loss. He breathes in and it aches.


	5. It's Too Late (Ready Or Not At All)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen and Leon prepare Merlin for the day to come and a friendly face (though Merlin will be reluctant to admit it) turns up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I think this chapter lacks a bit of heart and is too damn short, but something is better than nothing, right? Chapter Title from Green Day's' Waiting'.

**four :**   _IT'S TOO LATE (READY OR NOT AT ALL) ;_

 

                Gwen and Leon fill the days before Merlin was set to appear at his first class full of eager young minds. They ambushed him with instructions of what he could and could not do and coached him through the proper answers he should give if certain questions were to arise. Merlin suspects there should be more paperwork involved during the whole bit but he does not question Gwen on it. If she’s filling out all the papers so he doesn’t have to, well, then who’s he to take that away from her?

“So, I’m just going to run this through you once more,” Gwen says excitedly from behind her desk. It’s the day before classes start and she’s rushing through the rules, yet again. Bless her. “Please tell me you’ve got all that?” she begs, once she’s finished.

The truth is, no. Not one bit, really, he hasn’t. But he says: “Absolutely,” pointing to his head, “all up here, ready to go.”

“Brilliant!” exclaims Gwen, smiling with accomplishment. Which she should be, she’s tried very hard to guide him in preparation for his duties. It’s hardly her fault he’s a distracted creature by nature these days. Mind always off some place and never staying put. But he’s a bullshitter – a professional one, at that: he’s a writer. He’ll be fine improvising from this point on. Hopefully.

“Now, here are the names of your students.” Gwen is handing another set of papers at him, “I’ve marked down the bad apples for you on a separate sheet, just so you are up to date on what they’ll try to pull and whatnot. Please do burn it when you’re done reading it.”

Merlin accepts the papers, very careful not to sigh in her presence. “Will do, Gwen.” he promises.

“Good,” she exhales. “All that’s left is a tour of the college. Leon will do that with you because I have a few more things to take care of before tomorrow, including announcing your addition to the programs. I’d have announced it earlier but the press would be all over you and I didn’t want you to go through that.”

“Thanks, Gwen.” Merlin grins, for her benefit more than anything. “I can’t wait.”

By the look she gives him, he knows that she can see everything he’s been trying to hide from her. In turn, the mask slowly lifts on her own face and he sees everything she’s hiding from the world.

When she thanks him, it’s the most genuine thing he’s had happen to him in a very long time. 

“Thank you, Merlin.” _For doing this for me_ – isn’t said, but he hears it anyway.

“Here I should be the one thanking you,” He mutters, nods. “You’re welcome, Gwen.” And he means it.

The honesty they share bleeds through so heavily that the room fills with it, encircles and reminds them both of exactly what Lancelot had instilled in the both of them during his too-short of a lifetime: their ability to act in loyalty for those they care for, no matter what the other is going through.

Gwen calls Leon in from the other room, breaking the spell their shared grief had momentarily created. She asks him to show Merlin around for her and Leon agrees. 

“As you wish,” replies Leon, ever so obediently.

Gwen smiles at him, the act one of indulgence, before returning her attention to whatever else is her task for the day.

Merlin, who is standing there, watching, has to wonder if he’s the only one who’s caught on that Leon is bloody quoting from The Princess Bride.

“This way, Merlin.” Leon calls, softly, so as not to disturb Gwen.

Sighing, Merlin shakes his head from the various scenarios playing out in his head, adds another reminder to himself that people he knows in real life are _not_ to be used as story sources, and follows.

 

 

 

 

                The college proves larger than Merlin had imagined. There were far too many subjects to major in and every corridor looks the same as the next. His own room, thankfully, was near an exit door. All Merlin had to do now was memorize what section his classroom was located in and never, ever seek the outside of it.

“Would you like some time with the room?” Leon suggests to him, once inside said room.

Merlin found himself nodding absently. Being a writer, he’d grown used to his own company for quite a few years now and alone time sounded absolutely wonderful right about now.

“Right,” says Leon, “just, erm, go to the head office if you need anything or have any more questions.”

“Thanks,” mutters Merlin, wandering over to the desk he assumes is his. It was front and center, and bigger than any of the others in the room.

Then, he was alone. Merlin sunk into the chair behind the desk with an exhale and buries his face in his hands. He doesn't know how long he stays there, in that position, but eventually he asks aloud, to no one in particular, “What the hell have I gotten myself into?” 

“And just how does one make it stop?”

Merlin’s head shoots up in surprise at no-one-in-particular’s answer. There, leaning casually at the doorway of his new classroom, stood Gwaine.

“Hello, sunshine," the irishman greets, smiling like he hadn’t a care in the world. "Thought you could use a friendly face.”


	6. Another Brick In The Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwaine and Merlin reach an understanding. Merlin has a few words of caution for his to-be-students on the day of orientation.

**five :**   _ANOTHER BRICK IN THE WALL ;_

 

                Merlin had dragged Gwaine out of the college premises in a hurry and sat them down at the nearest café. He’s intending to work out the purpose of Gwaine’s visit and to get to the bottom of how the man seemed to land so conveniently in Merlin’s personal, self-made hell.

“What are you doing here, Gwaine?” Merlin demands, after their orders have been set in front of them.

Gwaine smiles at him cheekily from across the table and drinks his foamy cup of hot chocolate. Merlin blatantly ignores how ridiculously adorable Gwaine looks with the foam left tracking above his lip once he’s taken a noisy sip from his cup. The man makes no move to clean it off, setting his cup down and answering plainly, “I’m here on business.”

The delivery of Gwaine’s answers sounds much too elusive for Merlin’s liking. Like there’s a catch to it.

“What business?” Merlin presses. He’ll get to the heart of Gwaine’s motives, one way or another.

“I didn’t want to break it to you like this, Merlin,” says Gwaine conversationally, “but I’m looking for clients.”

Merlin scoffs. “Clients?” he repeats, fully disbelieving.

“Yes, sunshine.” Gwaine nods at him, leaning forward into the table. “You aren’t the only pot of gold out there, and it _is_ my job to find them. You know, writers. Ones who actually deliver.”

Alright, so that was a dig at Merlin’s own lack of creativity. He lets it slide, though, since Gwaine isn’t wrong. It had been too long now since Merlin had produced something with actual magic flowing through the pages. No fault lied with Gwaine on that, at least. 

“Fine,” Merlin concedes with a sigh, idly pushing his own cup of coffee in its saucer. He peers up at Gwaine, turning speculative. “Where are you staying?”

Gwaine’s laugh is soft and quiet, evidently pleased by Merlin’s interest. “Around.” He replies, pinning Merlin with his stare and asking back, eyebrow raised, “Why d’you ask?”

Merlin gives a shrug, “Just.”

“I’m here to _work_ , Merlin,” states Gwaine. As if Merlin is the insatiable one who can’t control his cock. Merlin bristles and tosses it right back at him.

“Oh, what a coincidence,” deadpans Merlin, “so am I.”

Gwaine’s smile softens, “That, my friend, I will believe when I actually see it.” He raises his hot chocolate to Merlin in a toast.

Merlin merely scoffs, picking up his coffee and taking a sip. It’s chilled considerably during his ignorance of it. He mulls over Gwaine’s presence here, joined with the particular brand of distraction the man tends to supply, and realizes it will prove to be of no help to him. Merlin can hardly ignore the sentimentality that grips at him as he sits there, though. The way the conversations slips into banter and laughter with growing ease. It’s almost like reality is lifting from his shoulders for a bit and he is being transported into a tiny bubble, with Gwaine sat right across from him, clouding his vision.

The present state of reality doesn’t seem to have quite the hold it had just hours ago. Merlin is hesitant to admit, the later it gets, that he needed this. A friend, one who remained untouched by the life Merlin led back home. Merlin realizes with a startling clarity that he can’t afford to indulge in Gwaine like he had in the past, yet he can’t seem to send the loon away either.

Even more troubling, Gwaine seems to pick up on this as well.

“I wasn’t lying, you know,” confesses Gwaine, looking far more serious than Merlin can ever recall seeing him, “about caring about you, I mean.” He clarifies. “On the phone the other day.

For all the aloofness Gwaine puts out into the world, Merlin happens to know better. Gwaine is nothing but sweet and loving to a fault, and he’d known Gwaine was more taken with him than the man let on. It’s not that Merlin did not care for him but he didn’t have it in him to return those feelings. The specific ones Gwaine was looking for. The ones Gwaine deserves. Merlin knows better to offer things he does not possess. Past lessons learned served him well on that.

“Yeah,” Merlin heaves a heavy sigh and nods in acknowledgement. “I know.”

Merlin feels it, then. Like a strand that is pulling and breaking itself loose at Gwaine’s admission, setting off a chain reaction. A choice and its fitted consequence. There’s a finality to it, to them, whatever they were, before, and they both know it too.

“Good.” Gwaine smiles, halfhearted as it is and hesitant in continuing the conversation. “Friends, then?”

Gwaine sounds so unsure about Merlin’s answer, and Merlin knows then and there that he doesn’t deserve it. This friendship being offered. Gwaine deserves better, as had Daegal.

“Friends.” Merlin agrees without a second thought, pushing away the terrible feeling inside of him that says he’s making a selfish decision. He hopes, and consoles himself, that maybe they both need each other in their lives, no matter what form they take. It’s the less guilty way to think about it, yes, but Merlin can shelve this particular guilt for later. Later, where Merlin will find himself wishing, for Gwaine’s sake more than his own: _if only people got what they deserved_.

 

 

 

                Orientation on the first day proved to be both a bore and a blur. With the announcement made earlier that morning of Merlin joining the staff in a specific writing workshop, various news people had shown up hoping to make some sort of interview of it but Gwen was very keen to make sure there was no such time for it. She and Leon had worked on a presentation that would fill the entire meeting from start to finish, allowing the students to ask questions for fifteen minutes after their presentation ended before dismissing them to walk the campus and attend to the classes offering ‘greeting meets.’ Which, of course, Gwen insisted Merlin be a part of.

Thankfully, Gwen had at least instructed Merlin to take the chance at sneaking off and away from the assembly room while she and Leon conducted the Q&A session with the students. It would give the press little to no option in cornering him for the day and Merlin took full advantage of it. He made a beeline for his classroom and holed up in there, dreading every second as they rolled on by.

One by one, student after student piled in until most of the seats in the class were taken. Merlin stood at the front of the room, faced with those who were just interested in seeing what he, the 'great writer', had to say. Those would not last, he knew. But there were expectant and eager participants in the sea of faces. Those just waiting to soak up anything and everything he had to say, holding him as a lifeline to the writer they wanted and hoped to be. Those who starved for tips or a general how-to. Anything that would get them from the island of becoming and into being a Real Writer.

He had to crush their disillusioned little hearts now, or they’d never snap out of it.

“I know you’ve come to this hoping to learn something, of how to become a better writer or something. I can see it in your glassy, hopeful eyes,” He tried not to scowl. “But I can’t teach you that. That can’t be taught, let alone be learned.”

And yet the class was eerily silent, hanging to his every word.

“Be something else, is the advice I can give you.” He told them, seeing several brows crease and frowns hurry to appear. The defiance in the way jaws start setting, the _how dare you tell me what to do_ glare pointed back at him.

Merlin smirked.

“That, right there. That is going to happen a lot, if you choose to write. I’ve found, in this profession, it’s suddenly clearer to me why all these writers and poets I admired as I grew up were drunk more often than they were not. The conclusion I’ve come to, in terms of being a writer, is that the permanent stasis of being is never anything but cruel and unyielding to its maker. You are more often than not stuck, unmoving, watchful, and painful apart from everything around you. You will feel every crease, every turn. Your memory will prove itself to a curse at times, for one reason or another. You will remember with painful clarity and emotions will breathe in and out of you. You retain the form of a husk, and every blank letter or page, you will feel are all the more real than those around you.

“It’s _hard_ to write. Anyone will find that bit out once they try at it, but for writers it comes almost harder to do so. Even then, when you can’t, when you really, _really_ can’t, harder yet is to option to stop. Because it may be an option, to stop writing, but there is no true choice in the matter. If you can choose, if you have that in you, choose now. Do something else. Something that is at least a bit gratifying on the road to where you want to be. Something that won’t make you dead miserable 95% of the time.” Then, almost without his consent, a smile appeared on Merlin's face. A private, honest smile.

“That 5% though… you’d never think that 5% could make you so whole. Hardly anything else can compare to it. When you write, and you know you've got it down, got it right. You are untouchable."

 

 

 

 

                Arthur, watching from the back doorway with Morgana, nudged his sister with his elbow. He nodded his head over towards Merlin, “Bit overdramatic, isn’t he?”

Morgana, not bothering to take her eyes off Merlin as he gave his speech, answered his observation with a scoff. “Says the man who caresses his cello with an intimacy better reserved for a lover.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, turning away and heading back in the direction of his own classroom, muttering to himself about how Morgana will be impressed with anything.


	7. Have Some Sympathy, And Some Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin develops plans for his students. Dinner is served (on both sides, respectively.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hallelujah, an update! Sorry about the awfully long break, if that's what it can be called. The wait must have been killing you. Mental health happens to be tricky business and needs (as old Mad-Eye Moody would say) 'constant vigilance'. I'll try not to get so out of sorts again in the future and keep the updates coming as quick as I can. Thank you to all who have stuck with this piece so far (and for so long) x
> 
> (Chapter title Rolling Stones lyrics from 'Sympathy For The Devil')

**six :** _HAVE SOME SYMPATHY, AND SOME TASTE ;_

 

                Orientation Week good and done with, the next meeting to occur for the teachers and their students was to take place after the coming weekend, meaning the following Monday.

It was a good idea, Merlin supposed. It would let things calm down and let everyone (teacher and students alike) get settled in. Being given these two extra days would undoubtedly work in everyone’s favor. A bit of freedom and such before jumping into the deep end and drowing beneath all expectation and responsibility wouldn’t backfire, not at all. Neither would it make Merlin think about his choices obsessively, initially making it impossible to sleep because his brain was too busy playing out scenarios wherein whatever could possibly go wrong would most definitely go wrong.  

Naturally, Gwaine helped little over all his fretting and dreading.

“Need me to shove you into oncoming traffic before morning bell rings?” the loon offered, over strictly friendly beers and pizza the night before Merlin’s ill-fated workday. They both laughed it off. As the hours tick by, Merlin considered the offer plenty.

 

 

 

 

                He’d planned to be in his homeroom a reasonable hour before he was expected. He’d planned to be bright and shining and (most importantly) ready for the doe-eyed students trusted to his charge. To be the crusher of their unrealistic expectations and demand from them what lied deeper at the surface. A writer must dig past mere skin and meat and bone, he knew, as his students would know, after this course was over.

Life, apparently, had other plans. He ends up bursting into the classroom exactly twenty minutes past roll-call, muttering a quick, “None of you even exist until my coffee is empty and tossed in the bin.”

Collapsing miserably behind his desk, Merlin starts early with the brooding. He’d damned many things and many gods in the moments that followed. Thankfully, somewhere between the last five gulps of caffeine therein emerged an entirely different creature. Merlin inclines himself to hoping that version of himself is known his new students as: _The Actual_ _Professor Emrys_.

It is awful, and he’s possibly more awful at it. The entire ‘getting used to being up and awake at an adult-like hour’ proves to be the actual incarnate of ‘living hell on planet earth’. He has no idea how normal human beings carry on with it. It’s dreadful, and by the time his first week is over it has him serious contemplating Gwaine’s offer.

Gwaine guffaws in his face once Merlin relays his thoughts on the subject. Merlin has half a mind to kiss the amusement right off Gwaine’s face, only that would be slightly if not entirely selfish. There's little he can call unselfish in the past few years. Gwaine makes it hard, though. As kind and attentive as he is a lover, Gwaine proves himself to be even that much more of a spectacular mate. Deep down Merlin supposes he already knew that he would be.

The horrible habit of late-ness continues, but his students watch on at the transformation with a growing fondness. By the last of the second week most of them are still enrolled in his class. Even if they’d taken the course for a laugh or out of pure curiosity, to quote Gwen: “It seems Professor Emrys has proven to be entertaining enough to suffer through a lousy _how-to_ writing class.”

“Oi,” Merlin had bristled at the choice of wording when she’d relayed that to him.

Gwen shrugged the blame away. “I only repeat what I’ve been told, Professor.” She told him, matter-of-fact. “But I too cringed at the wording. You’re more lovely than lousy and I’m sure whomever came up with that description is just jealous.”

Merlin conceded to her semi-apology, if it even was one. He has enough mind to pin down that the students who had signed up for his class and continue to latch onto it lie in the most basic of human reasons: it’s been a breeze, so far.

The first days, after his healthy dose of caffeine, focused more on lecturing random subjects, involving less of the actual writing exercises that came to be expected in a writing class. Merlin was far more interested to extend discussions to his pupils and learn more of their viewpoints and perceptions. In his class, marks were bestowed based on whether or not a student willingly participated and marking fully depended on how often their voice was heard, how genuine, how passionate, and how descriptive. To Merlin’s own method of writing, he figured paper and pen were less needed. In the beginning, that is. He preferred to judge the words spoken from the mouths of the intending writers first, to find out if they indeed had something to _say_ at all.

By the end of the fourth week Merlin had them all exactly where he wanted them: secure and unassuming. All they would expect from this point on was an hour and a half of mouthing off to their heart’s desire, be it on this or that.  _Oh, if only they knew…._

Merlin was intending those comfortable, settled hearts to write out every heartbeat they possessed until the blood coiled and burst from the weight words. Of the past weeks he’d spent observing Merlin has a particular sensing, an almost unbearable anticipation, to try two of his students more than any others. It is to Freya and Mordred that Merlin has silently cast his highest of hopes.

 

 

 

 

                “Oh, please, please, _pretty_ please!” Gwen pleaded at him from the other end of the mobile. “Come on over to dinner, Merlin! It would be so lovely to have you home again!”

This was the third time Gwen had tried to get him to accept an invitation to one of her special dinners. Apparently Lance hosted them with her weekly, which is bloody news to his ears. Besides, Merlin hadn't need of new friends. He has the one (now that he’s stopped shagging him, that is.)

 “I really wouldn’t feel very comfortable hanging about with your friends, Gwen.” He answered honestly.

“It can be your first 9-5 working adult gathering!” she proposed excitedly. “It could come in handy, as… _experience_. Or whatever you writers call reality.”

Gwen’s tactics couldn’t really be called coercing, for she’s not threatening him per se.... Merlin imagines the sight of her at this very moment. The hopeful smile she'd probably have plastered on her face. That smile. Kind and beautiful and warm, yes, but _unyielding_.

Sending a silent curse to Lancelot (wherever he is now) Merlin appeases to Guinevere’s invitation. She squeals far too loudly.

And that’s how he ends up dragging Gwaine along with him for dinner with Gwen and her colleagues.

 

 

 

 

                Apparently Gwaine needs to be told beforehand when it comes to a social dinner with strangers that he is to keep his big fat mouth shut when concerning Merlin’s teaching plans. Of the five attending guests, every which one had an opinion and they did not hesitate stating them.

“You’re obviously a sadist,” Arthur muttered disdainfully. 

The title mattered little to Merlin, but Gwaine stiffened beside him and looked at Arthur like the man was a right prat.

“Now, now,” Gwen called attention gently. “No name calling. Please, Arthur.” She scolded the blond sitting at her left, casting an apologetic glance across the table at Merlin.  

“It is a bit unorthodox, Merlin. Switching course so suddenly.” Offered Morgana, who sat at Arthur's side, in an attempt to settle the storm arising. “However, I’m more than sure you know what you’re doing. It is your class, after all.”

“Do you even remember what UNI was like?” Arthur blurted out suddenly. He seemed more outraged at the prospect than Merlin could even begin to comprehend. “This is assuming you did go to UNI, did you?”

Gwen gasped, horrified. “ _Arthur_!”

Merlin ignored the intended slight. “It’s alright, Gwen.” He assured. “And for your information, Arthur, I did. Of course, Gwen did hire me so anyone with brains should have been able to work that one out.” Merlin drank from his glass of wine gingerly and Gwaine tried (and failed) to stifle a snort.

“Then you’re aware it’s a mental breakdown waiting to happen, yes?” Arthur continued, voice hard and eyes glaring at Merlin even harder. “Some students, their brains are like tiny little eggshells. Each trying to cope, to get through to next course. Each trying to stay afloat. One little tap in a too-sensitive area and those brains will crack open all over your shoes. A mess is all you’ll have. Complaints from students and their parents alike. Which Guinevere will have to deal with, I might add. It’s not worth it. You’re supposed to be educating these students, not mucking about with their futures while extending to them an opportunity of probable failure.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand it,” Merlin spoke calmly, “but I am helping them.”

Merlin had been determined to push these unassuming young minds to the brink of their untapped imagination if it was the last thing he did. Besides, emotional responses tended to help in writing cases. Merlin even recalls some of his best work being created under such pressures. If anything, he's positive his students (those that are serious in the profession) will benefit experiencing pressures of this sort. If they don’t blossom under hardships, they’ll at least glimpse three of the harshest facts for a writer.

One) life is happening constantly, it will not slow down just for you. Two) because life is constantly happening all around you it tends to interrupt your writing, and more often when you finally have something. Finally, and perhaps the most imperative, three) neither count as justifiable excuses so find a way and  _keep writing_.

“Writing isn’t like music, Arthur." Merlin stated. "You’re not given a paper full of how-to’s and instructed on what is expected of you, you actually have to learn the limits on your own.”

“Merlin!” Gwen whispered, shocked.

The silence in the room extended. Morgana was no longer glaring at Arthur but blinking stupidly at Merlin as if she’d not computed exactly what had left his mouth. Gwaine sat at Merlin’s side, smirking openly. Arthur tossed his napkin on the table and stood. He turned to Gwen and took her hand, “Thank you for dinner, Guinevere, but suddenly I’ve lost my appetite.”

Morgana followed after her brother once the shock wore off, but Merlin sat back shamelessly. He raised his wine to his lips, watching the prat go on happily.

“He asked for it,” Merlin defended, when the Pendragons were long gone and Gwen wouldn't say a word to him or spare him a glance.

“And you could have been the adult at this table!” Gwen snapped angrily, picking up her plate in a rush and storming back into her kitchen. Only Gwaine and himself now remained in Gwen’s lovely dinner area.

“I thought it was funny.” Gwaine confided from beside him.

Merlin grinned, “Cheers.”

They clinked glasses like partners in crime.

 

 

 

 

                There was no indecision on Merlin’s part after dinner. No way. For no one was going to convince Merlin not to do as he’d intended. Not even that big blond, know nothing dollophead.

Merlin does catch himself dialing Lance’s number, however. More out of reflex than anything. After several turns at it Merlin throws his phone against the wall so hard that it refuses to turn back on again.

The silence makes everything clearer.

Somehow it manages to cloud things over, too.

 

 

 

 

                In sleep it seems Arthur’s remarks hit at some heart of Merlin’s misgivings, he’ll admit to that much, but he had been decided about the direction he would take in his class long before Pratdragon had anything to say about it and regardless of his worries, decided on the matter Merlin would stay. End of.

He would challenge his students, as any piece of writing out there in the world challenged us all. He had expectations for once. He may not have had them at first, when he took the job, but he sure as hell had them now.

Merlin wants to hear the words on the page without them having to be voiced. He wants the words to stand up, to move from where they’re imprinted on the page, to envelop him, and to do their damn job. He wants those 26 letters in the alphabet to build whatever purpose they have been gathered for, or are in service of. He wants to be given something that will reach into his mind, into his heart, his soul and to never fade, never leave. He wants something to reach in and touch whatever it is that exists inside of him, if anything still exists at all. Something personal and purely singular yet shared by so many.

He may have lost the ability but someone else could no doubt pick up where he left off.

Merlin wants a story. He wants to _feel_ it.

 

 

 

 

                “I don’t want a word out of any of you today. Not a single word out of your mouths. Write it on the page,” he instructs to his class at their next meeting, the beginning of week five, as he passes out the paper and pencils he’s saved for this exact moment. “And I don’t want you to just tell me. Have care, choose your words. Choose your voice. From this day on the only markings you will receive in this class rely solely on how well you following my demands.”

He looked out to the familiar faces. Some were blinking with surprise (Nimueh and Freya), others gaping in horror (Helios).

“I do suppose you can exhale with the fact that this project is the only I will be assigning you for the rest of this course, but what I’m demanding will probably leave no room to be thankful for such small graces. This one thing that I demand, I promise you now it’s high on the list of the most difficult things to ever be asked of you. I speak only from experience.”

Several gulps are taken and the familiar scent of dread fills the air. Merlin almost smiles….

 _Almost_.

“Writing is tricky. Something that is yours so wholly and yet something you never get back, because you give more than you’ll ever receive. Surprisingly, giving away that much, can be more than okay. Pleasant. It can bring happiness, even. Now, listen well, I don’t demand you write something difficult or brilliant or clever. I’m not demanding a literary classic. No,” Merlin shook his head. “That’s _not_ what I’m asking. What I want something much harder to accomplish. Something I personally considered to be a great hardship. It usually never comes at first tries and that’s why I’m giving you only one project, because it takes years of seeking out something so uniquely personal, your own style, and even more years to perfect it, and all we have is a few weeks more to work on this. So you are going to write me something, but not only that....”

 _That bit’ll be the easy part_ , he thinks, feeling somewhat remorseful at last.

“ _Move_ me,” he challenges, and Merlin is positive he doesn’t imagine the two specific students he'd hoped on readily accepting his task.


	8. Speaking Words Of Wisdom, Let It Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Arthur opts for peace, not victory. Gwaine helps. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Some Arthur POV for you.
> 
> (Chapter title from Beatles song "Let It Be")

   

**seven:** _SPEAKING WORDS OF WISDOM, LET IT BE ;_

 

                Morgana’s disapproving comments had flown freely from the second she’d caught up with him after storming out of Guinevere’s small get together. Unfortunately they had not eased down since. It helped the situation little that he was her designated driver from here to there and everywhere, and so her seemingly endless tirades accompany Arthur at all hours. Morgana also left zero to no room for his input and so he felt it best to simply keep his mouth shut. If she wanted his side of the story or any retort from him whatsoever she’d first have to stop mouthing off at him in order for such a thing to happen. It didn’t look likely anytime soon.

Arthur preferred to look at the brighter side of things. Amidst other personal matters, Morgana’s rantings had given him time to process the incident for himself. So what if his behavior had been a tad bit immature for a man of his age? At least he recognizes this and readily accepts his side of the blame. That did not however mean he was prone to share the blame alone. The Emrys bloke was as much to blame for the outburst as Arthur was. In fact, Arthur is positive he can come up with a list to all the ways Merlin could have helped to avoid the behavior displayed at Guinevere's dinner table.

If only Morgana would find it in her cold black heart to acknowledge as much then perhaps they’d be on speaking terms.

 

 

 

 

                The one-sided blaming game gets old very quickly. Arthur would rather burn his face off than to admit any of this aloud to Morgana’s face but he finds himself sorely missing the golden days where the whole pretense of their relationship functioned on _pretending_ to dislike one another rather than actually being in dislike with one another.

Morgana (thankfully) greets him with a different manner altogether on the seventh morning of their joint space in hell, but she also lays the guilt on thick and makes mention that Guinevere is – and he quotes – _coming apart at the seams._

His sister focuses on the scenery outside the passenger window while he drives them to the college, a companionable silence for the most part of it.

“She says you avoid her now,” Morgana mentions, “and that you don’t answer any of her calls.”

Arthur tries not to sigh, his grip on the wheel tightening considerably. “She called twice,” he admits grudgingly . “But I was hardly ignoring her. I was busy. And I even called back! She was the one who didn’t answer.”

Morgana ignores his excuses and carries on with making him the wrong-doer here. “Do you remember the last time Gwen had to pick between you and someone else?” Morgana inquires, her witchy eyes studying him. Bright and speculative and missing nothing. “It is because our dear Gwen holds you in such high regard, that last time, that she nearly rejected the love of her life. It was in order to spare you any pain or upset, dear brother. Will you really allow her to do such a thing again? Are you that full of yourself?”

Arthur pulled into their regular spot in the carpark of the college. The car now off, he took the opportunity to glare at his sister properly. A glare she is to know by heart. 

“You should apologize, Arthur,” Morgana suggests. 

Arthur blanches, “I’m sorry? I must have some glue stuck thick in my ear, come again.”

“ _Gwen_ ,” she clarifies and Arthur allows himself to indulge in the slight relief. For a second there he thought she was insinuating he owed an apology to…. “And one to Merlin obviously, while you’re at it,” Morgana added. “Clean up this mess full circle, like an actual adult.”

Arthur scowls at her, “Hang on… did you just say I owe an apology to – that _I_ owe _him_ an apology?”

“We may not like the parts we play, Arthur, but we are still Pendragons.” She utters patiently, as if speaking sense to a particularly stubborn child. “You must take responsibility for your behavior. And,” she frowns, suddenly uncomfortable and looking down at her lap. “You always were better than Uther and I at calculating losses. Particularly to what was worth losing for. In all his absence until recently, this Merlin does seem to be more family than friend to Gwen. You think about that.”

Morgana gathered her bag and her coat and slipped out of his car without another word.

And _damn her_ , because she spoke true enough. They _were_ Pendragons. The last of them and they had been raised to act as such.  

Morgana was also right about the _more family than friend_ part, too. It was plainly obvious to anyone with eyes. Merlin and Guinevere got on in such a way that it eclipsed words, their form of communication could be filled up entirely by gestures. They mirrored siblings or something else, something infinitely closer. Almost like they both shared a secret journey together once and now lived in a bubble an outsider could never hope to join in on.

And all that history had happened long before Arthur came into the picture. Even Lancelot, whom Arthur considered his most trusted friend. His brother….

Merlin had known Lancelot the longest, before any of them had. Arthur knew the kind of man Lance was and Lancelot would never have stuck by a person if they were not worth the loyalty. They’d have to be worth that and more. If a man like Lancelot stood by Merlin for so many years he couldn’t be all bad, could he?

Sighing, Arthur exits his car. His head is clouding with too many thoughts and far more emotions than he’s used to having in the morning hour. One things is thankfully decided by the time he’s reached his classroom and that is that he can hardly allow any antipathy he feels towards Merlin get in the middle of Guinevere’s relationship with him. Arthur would never forgive himself if he were responsible for Gwen losing someone so dear to her. However if he was expected to swallow his pride for the sake of peace in the workplace he was going to need a damn strong cup of coffee.

 

 

 

 

                

                The day came and went and Arthur had foregone the coffee, spending all of his hours safe behind the walls of his classroom. He’s not proud (and he’s definitely _not_ hiding) but he does know himself. Mainly his temperament. Normally he’d suck it up and be the voice of reason but something about the encounter stuck to him, hit a nerve, making him uncharacteristically childish about the whole thing and wishing to hold onto the grudge longer.

No. There would be no kind words coming from him if he ran into Merlin again so soon. He needs a bit more time for his emotions to stifle. It will make him far less likely to do something unwise. Then and only then would he be of any diplomatic use to anyone.

Arthur is busy sorting through music notes for the following day when a sharp whistle and a tapping noise at his door divide his attention away from his work. Merlin’s friend, the one in attendance at the dinner-gone-wrong, stands at the doorway lazily leaning against it like a nuzzling cat and all smiles.

“This is a big room,” comment Merlin’s friend, stepping inside Arthur’s place of teaching. “It’s like those ones they hold opera’s in. We saw Les Mis live in one like this last year, Merlin and I." The man snaps his fingers at Arthur, "What are they called?”

“An auditorium.” Arthur answers flatly, unimpressed. If this is the sort Merlin hangs out with….

“Gwaine,” the man introduces, holding his hand out when he’s near enough.

Not wanting to be rude, Arthur shakes the awaiting hand. “Arthur.”

“I know,” Gwaine smiles tightly, hand back at his side. “Look, _princess_ , now I don’t care what crawled up your arse that night over dinner and I’ve no reason to extend such courtesies your way. Merlin, on the other hand, I care very much about and he’s not who you think he is.”

Arthur's simply speechless. This man, who has the audacity to come into his auditorium and, what? Have a row in the name of defending a friend’s honor? Is he suddenly in tenth year all over again?

“He’s under a lot of stress right now,” said Gwaine, “and he’s obviously still grieving. See, we all make mistakes and act out according to the circumstances in our lives and sometimes our actions aren’t always a display of who we truly are. Life's rarely so simple. So how about you get off of your high horse and give the bloke a break, alright?”

“Did you really come all the way down here to find me and say that to my face?” Arthur inquires, strangely respecting this Gwaine bloke if the answer turns out to be ‘yes.’

Gwaine merely smiles. “Just, trust me when I say the following advice is a kindness, one I’m not sure you even deserve but I happen to be feeling quite charitable today.”

Arthur crosses his arms over his chest, “And what advice could that possibly be?”

“Stop being so horrible to Merlin, of course,” Gwaine eyes Arthur as if he were some sort of simpleton for not coming up with that one all on his own. “He can be a bit private at first. He keeps himself to himself but that’s just how he needs to act to get on in the world. When it comes down to it Merlin’s the kind of person who does things just for the good of doing them. Because he’s too kind and utterly selfless when it comes to those he loves, needing of no praise for his actions. And he _cares_.” Gwaine pauses, a frown working over his face, “He cares so deeply that perhaps that’s why he needs that armor he wears so heavily. So he can survive in this world. Not everyone appreciates him properly, if they did maybe… maybe then he’d be easier to reach.”

Finished with his little speech, Gwaine nods at Arthur though he can't meet his eye.

Arthur stares at the place Gwaine stood long after the man is gone, thinking over everything the man had said to him. The more he thinks it over, the more Arthur gets the feeling labeling Gwaine under Merlin’s ‘friend’ may have been a horrible miscalculation on his part. 

Also maybe he needs to get over whatever it is that is truly bothering him about Merlin, which he can't actually put his finger on. Not yet. 


	9. Like The Stars Chase The Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana & Gwen are over it. They take matters into their own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some light James Bond references. Cursing. Drinking & smoking references.
> 
> (Chapter title from Florence + The Machine "Queen Of Peace")

 

 **eight :** _LIKE THE STARS CHASE THE SUN;_

 

                “Arthur, are you in here?”

Arthur starts at the sound of Morgana’s voice. He checks the time and finds it long past college closing hours.

“ _Arthur_!”

He shuffles out from behind his desk and marches in the direction from his office, which lies hidden away in a tiny adjacent room at the back end of the very large auditorium, and catches Morgana as she reaches the floor level, just stepping off from the side-stairs located on either sides of the room.

“Morgana,” he greets her, crossing his arms across his chest suspiciously. “I thought you’d have caught a ride home by now. It’s not like you to wait.” Arthur motions for her to follow him over towards his office where it’s not so dark, making mention, “You know how I can get carried away planning schedules for future classes, especially on holiday weekend.”

Morgana smiles, her green eyes unusually bright. “I wanted to see you, dear brother,” she says sweetly. She slips in after him into his office and settles gracefully into the chair opposite his desk, making quite a play of straightening her necklace before catching his eye, grinning happily. “Silly me. You see, here I was, under the impression that you were _hiding_ under all this so-called paperwork.”

Arthur dismisses her notion with a snort, moving back around his desk himself and taking a seat. “That’s absurd,” he says evenly. He’s _not_ hiding. Of course he’s not. He’s trying to figure it all out for once, his predicament, before marching on headfirst and making an ass out of himself. Surely that’s what responsible adults did, didn’t they?

“Really?” Morgana’s evil little smirk turns shark-like, out for blood. He glares. “So you’re not hiding away in your classroom at all hours of the day in fear of bumping into Merlin in the halls or the lounge or something?”

Arthur gives Morgana nothing towards confirmation and opts it better to remain neutral on the subject. Rising to the bait will hardly help him. “It’s quite farce, Morgana, even for you. Dare I ask how you reached such an assumption?”

Morgana leans back in her chair and watches him, silent and speculative. He tries not to squirm in his seat underneath such attention. Father used to do this, as if he could work Arthur out by glaring alone. It had unnerved Arthur to no ends.

Morgana adds an effortless shrug when she finally affords him a voiced explanation, saying, “Rumors do tend to fly when met with nothing but silence, Arthur. We may be teachers of this fine establishment but not even we are above the rumor mill.” Then, she practically pounces. “So you do see how nothing good can come from more avoidance of the problem, yes?”

He recognizes her tone in a heartbeat and warns, “Mor _gana_.”

“Sensible man that you are, you must also agree to how ridiculous this all seems in the grand scheme of thing?” His sister stands and beams down at him, “And… since you are seeing sense, finally, you won’t object to joining Gwen and Merlin for drinks tonight, as I promised them that you would. A making amends, of sorts.”

Arthur cringes, knowing the answer before he asks but not above taking his frustrations out on her. “And do I have any say in this?”

“None at all,” she moves forward to pat his cheek not-so-gently. “This terrible limbo you’ve gone and placed Gwen and I on has got to have an out.”

“Oh, _I’ve_ placed you on it have I?” Arthur mocks. He’s outraged of course, yet more wholly terrified of the position he’s being placed in. There’s no way out, not if Morgana has any say.

“You’ve made it awkward, Arthur,” Morgana states. “I’m done enabling whatever it is you’ve not figured out yet. We’re going and that’s that. Finish up here what you will, I expect to meet you at the car no later than ten minutes.”

“You can’t just make me do something, Morgana! I’m not a child!” And even as it leaves his mouth Arthur sure feels like a child saying it. He sees it in Morgana’s eyes, too. There’s some disappointment lingering there but mostly there’s pity. It’s a look Arthur’s known his whole life and it has only ever come from one other person.

It’s easy to forget sometimes just how alike Morgana is to their father, except when she completely isn’t.

“Listen,” Morgana suggested kindly, coaxing him, “how about you get to know him before passing judgment? That’s all we ask of you, Arthur. Merlin is… he’s family to Gwen, to Lance. God knows I shouldn’t be telling you this, it’s personal, but I’m sure Gwen will understand. Desperate times and all.”

Morgana suffers between telling him and not until just Arthur rolls his eyes and impatiently motions for her to just get on with it. “Spit it out, Morgana.”

“Gwen said that Lancelot, when he first introduced Merlin to her, that Merlin was his family when he didn’t even know what it meant to be in one.” Morgana turned quiet, thoughtful, eventually making hopeful mention: “The students really like him.”

“Yes,” Arthur sighs. “I know they do.” How could he not? It’s always _Professor Emrys this_ , or _Professor Emrys that_. To hear from the mouth of the students, Merlin is always so lovely or funny or inspiring. Downright enchanting, he is. They won’t bloody shut up about him.

He’d taken notice of Merlin after Lance’s funeral, which wasn’t hard as it would’ve been impossible to ignore ears like that. Truthfully it finally put a face to a name that Lancelot had mentioned plenty, nothing but fondness and adoration leaking through at each and every recalled memory. The man, rest his soul, had spoken of Merlin so highly that Arthur had found himself wondering about this mythical-like creature. Was he a real person or some fabled legend, because to hear Lance tell a tale one can never be sure. Then, when this Merlin finally shows his face, to have their first meeting go so badly….

What had gone so spectacularly wrong at Gwen’s dinner? Had the hostility been of both their making? Just a regular bad day, added with bad timing, or had it all been one-sided at heart? The other just rising to the bait? As if one half was missing in the equation and therefore compelling the other to fulfill… _what_? And why would Arthur care anyway? He hardly knew Merlin! What about the man had worked Arthur into such a state to act out unfavorably in front of company?

The entire ordeal was simply embarrassing and Arthur was not eager for a repeat performance. However, being boxed in to do something he was not planning on doing doesn’t feel entirely as compromising as he’d thought it out to be.

Morgana was still lingering, awaiting his answer.

“Who else will be there?” he enquires. Because the less witnesses, the better.

“Just the four of us.” Morgana arches an eyebrow, “Do you actually think we’d embarrass you further than you’ve already embarrassed yourself? Because let me assure you that is not possible.”

“Fine,” Arthur rolls his eyes. “Give me five minutes. It is time we put this entire matter behind us anyway.”

Arthur can tell by the look on her face that she wants to make some sort of inappropriate jest, however a pointed glare settles her down some.

The harpy bites the inside of her cheek to compose herself before replying, “And I agree with you wholeheartedly, dear brother. It’s _so_ about time that we put Merlin behind you.”

She’s ducked out of his office by the time he throws a new box of pencils at her. Morgana always was too quick for him.

 

 

 

 

                Gwen hops up from her chosen table at the bar and rushes over to greet he and Morgana the second she catches sight of them.

“I’m so glad you made it,” she whispers against his ear earnestly, arms clutching him just a little bit tighter once the words are said. Her smile is grateful and relieved when she pulls back to look upon him.

“Of course. Anything for you, Guinevere.” Arthur replies kindly, making it a point to smile wider in hopes of distracting her from how much he is regretting agreeing to this little setup. He'd had time to think on it during the drive over and he's convinced the night will fail. There is no possible outcome of this night where he and Merlin will settle their differences. No chance, no way.

And yet there is that look in Gwen’s eyes…. Hopeful as ever. Her faith in him unwavering. Suddenly Arthur’s priority has shifted into seeing through this night without another incident. That is all he needs preoccupy himself with. He will not fail her again.

“Where’s Merlin?” Morgana’s voice brings him out of his trance and Arthur looks to the direction of their table. There is indeed no Merlin.

“Oh, he’ll be right back.” Gwen assured them, explaining, “Smoke break.”

Arthur wrinkled his nose in disgust, “Does he not know those will kill you?” He felt an elbow at his side and turned to find Morgana glaring daggers at him as Gwen led them over to their table. “It’s bloody well true!” he defended, slipping into the chair opposite Gwen’s.

“If it helps, Lance agreed with your point of view.” Gwen admitted with a smile. “He tried to get Merlin to quit plenty of times when they were younger. Merlin would stop for a time and then pick the nasty habit up again. We worked out it has to do with stress levels. He smokes more when he’s under pressure.”

Arthur nodded, silently taking in this information.

“Well,” Morgana shrugged, “I don’t know about you cleanly and untainted lot, but I can vouch that smoking a fag every once in a while can ease your anxieties.”

“Depends on the person, I suppose.” Gwen said. “I’ll go order us a round. Anything in particular?” she asked.

“Scotch, if you please.” Arthur answered.

“ _I’ll_ have a dry martini, Gwen.” Added Morgana. “Thank you.”

“Let me guess,” Arthur murmured. “Shaken, not stirred?”

"How exciting," Merlin suddenly slipped into sight, taking the chair opposite Arthur. The seat Gwen was supposed to occupy. The one that made Arthur safe from confrontation.

Well, _fuck_.

"Gwen didn't tell me we'd invited 007 himself," Merlin teased dryly.

“The name’s Bond,” Morgana extended her hand and Merlin took it obligingly. “James Bond.”

“You know, I have always wanted to be a Bond Girl.” Merlin confessed. “Dreams do come true.” His eyes finally rested on Arthur, whom he gave the vaguest of nods. “Afternoon. Are you up for the part of a Bond Girl, too?”

“Mate,” Arthur glanced at Morgana warily, “if she’s playing Bond then I’m the villain of this story, you can bet on that.”

“Too true,” agreed Morgana.

Gwen arrives shortly with their drinks and Arthur wastes no time in drinking up.

 

 

 

 

            The girls had scampered off to the loo to ‘freshen up,’ leaving Arthur alone with Merlin.

Merlin, who seemed not one bit shaken by Arthur’s presence or ashamed of their last encounter. Merlin, who looked Arthur in the eye when addressing him and who’s every glance goaded Arthur like a silent challenge. Merlin, who acknowledged Arthur without an ounce of animosity yet managed to make his annoyances known to him, speaking without censor and in full detail.

 _Merlin_.

Who has started hiccupping because he’s drunk too much but is still determined to finish his pint of lager _because it's a waste of perfectly good lager, you well-off inconsiderate prat._

“Well,” Arthur decides, “I heard you lot can be rather impressive drunkards when you want to be but seeing it upfront is an entirely different experience.”

Merlin’s hiccups punctuated between his sudden lack of speech, however the longer the silence stretched instilled a fear in Arthur that perhaps he’d said the wrong thing again. Insulted the man or something, until he noted a tiny twitch upward at the corner of Merlin’s lips. A smile of sorts. Or a moment of thinly veiled amusement at the least.

"Painting us writers as _impressive_ in this sense may be an unfair choice of words," Merlin murmured finally. "Unrealistic, too. If you think about it. Cheap drunkards, on the other hand," Merlin glanced at Arthur from underneath his lengthy fringe. It made Arthur crack a grin. "There's a rumor, some think it a myth, that we used to get paid by the word, back in the day. It's said of Dickens, actually." Merlin informed Arthur, sounding far more morose and sober than he had any right to be. Even his hiccups had ceased. "So the more words we wrote, the merrier of a drunkard one would have on their hands."

"Are you trying to compel me to buy you another round, in the subtlest of may-be-mythical arguments?"

Merlin shrugged, “Is it working?”

Arthur huffed out a breathless scoff, almost a chuckle. “You know, you’d almost make for satisfying company if you weren’t so dead set on being unpleasant.”

Merlin grimaced. “On second thought, I take the whole thing back. I must have had far too many because that right there, that almost came off sounding like a compliment.”

"You've obviously retained some sort of mental affliction, Merlin. I've no idea what you are talking about." Arthur dismissed the accusation with a knowing smile, one Merlin understood completely and mirrored back at him.

 

 

 

 

            “Do you think they have enough sense to get a ride home?” Gwen pondered to Morgana, both having snuck out the back of the bar and heading for their cars.

"I have Arthur’s keys,” Morgana waved the jangling keyset in her hand. “And here’s hoping nothing near sense hits those two until morning. I can’t go through another week of this disgusting teenage unresolved sexual tension melodrama. We’re supposed to be adults, Gwen!” Morgana ranted, aghast.

Gwen snickered, literally tripping over her own two feet. Morgana’s reflexes thankfully were still intact. _She_ hadn’t drunk herself silly and so she reaches out with ease, gripping Gwen’s shoulders and steadying the woman before she seriously hurt herself. Gwen broke out in joyous laughter, failing to contain herself and dissolving into helpless little giggles. Morgana doesn't remember hearing her laugh like that since before the funeral.

“Fucking hell, Gwen.” Morgana blinked at her best friend and then made it a point to take Gwen’s keys next.

When Gwen calms down some, Morgana walks them both over to hail a cab.


	10. Love's A Game, Want To Play?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin is actually devastatingly aware of his "charm" & Arthur Pendragon is the helpless swoon-er (pass it on).
> 
> ~~& may this chapter start that trend.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AN:** I really enjoyed writing this. A change in the dynamic from Merlin tending to be the head over heels for Arthur beautiful-blonde-dollophead Pendragon (which he is, don't get me wrong) in fanfic to Arthur actually being the one unable to contemplate how this beautiful creature known as Merlin exists (bc he fucking is  & it needs to be explored more). Enjoy.
> 
> Chapter title from Taylor Swift's "Blank Space"

**nine** : _LOVE’S A GAME, WANT TO PLAY?_ ;

 

            Outside, Arthur pat down his coat pockets followed by his jeans, glaring at Merlin while doing so. He announced, “My… my keys are gone!”

 

Two hours passed before Arthur and Merlin had cotton on that Morgana and Gwen had disappeared on them. Actually _ditched_ would be an infinitely better term. The pair paid for their drinks and hurriedly made their way out of the bar. It proved an unsteady journey as both were supported only by the weight of the other to help achieve balance, side-by-side.

 

Merlin didn’t suffer Arthur’s glare meekly and moved forward into Arthur’s space, much too close for comfort. He then repeated Arthur’s version of a patting down himself and gave a firm nod.

 

“Yes,” Merlin said. “So they are. And what exactly do you want me to do about that?”

 

Arthur could only gape in the face of Merlin’s total lack of issue with their sudden proximity. Their noses were just shy of touching and every breath Merlin exhaled ended up a warm puff against Arthur’s cheek, spreading even to the edge of his mouth. Merlin’s eyelids were drooping ever so slightly. In noticing _that_ Arthur also (helpfully) noticed that Merlin had eyelashes that went on for ages. The slope of Merlin’s cheekbones weren’t entirely unpleasant either. Arthur itched with a sudden want to trace them with the tip of his finger, only to assure himself that he wouldn’t in fact retain a cut from the exquisite angular positioning of them.

 

Merlin’s mouth… well. He really must have had too much to drink then if he’s become so intent to map out Merlin’s facial features out like they were indeed his to inspect.

 

Merlin, for all intents and purposes, hadn’t moved away an inch. Nor had he called Arthur out on his little lapse of silence. No, no, no. Merlin is too caught up in surveying Arthur’s features right back.

 

Heat floods Arthur’s face immediately at Merlin’s blatant interest and Arthur finds himself quite thankful that the night’s full moon is only capable of revealing so much.

 

Arthur clears his throat awkwardly. “Merlin?” he asks. “How did you get here?”

 

“Gwen gave me a lift,” Merlin answers, bright eyes roaming Arthur’s face (and other parts of him) utterly without shame.

 

“Oh.” Arthur replies. It’s all he can muster.

 

“Arthur?” Merlin inquires, eyes capturing Arthur’s and holding him with a gaze that can only be labeled as curious. “Would it be untoward in any way to invite myself back to yours or are you, you know, too noble for that or something equally as inexcusable?”

 

Arthur couldn’t help himself. He threw back his head and _laughed_.

 

Merlin meanwhile pinned his gaze straight to Arthur’s neck. Consumed in watching Arthur’s Adam’s apple work underneath that pale white throat, determinedly waiting for an answer whether Arthur had taken it seriously or not.

 

“Bloody hell,” Arthur shook his head, finally containing himself. “Romance isn’t dead with you is it, _Mer_ lin?” he replied, slightly edged with an accusation.

 

“Oh,” Merlin shrugged. “So you’re going to tell me you’re a romantic at heart, are you?” Merlin moved infinitely closer, lining their bodies up perfectly and rubbing his nose against Arthur’s. “That’s… rather primitive,” commented Merlin. “Actually.”

 

Arthur glanced at their surroundings, blinking. He could imagine that they were making quite a spectacle out here. An assortment of drunken tangling limbs free of inhibitions, encircling each other in the dead of night (early morning???). The sort any proper voyeur would love to stumble upon.

 

“Merlin,” Arthur managed to mutter just before Merlin sealed any other words he had to say with a kiss.

 

 

 

 

            

            “Mister Pendragon?”

 

Arthur straightened at the sound of his name and then, fully regretting the action, winced, biting back a pained groan before it could escape. The lack of sleep was one thing but the burn of a sturdy seat against his…. Indeed. He was not 21 anymore.

 

Turning his attention to the student requesting his attention, she was offering up her flute all the while eyeing him somewhat suspiciously.

 

“How may I be of help to you today, Isolde?” Arthur inquired pointedly. Whatever his student had been observing, she snapped right out of it at the sound of his voice and offered her issue with a gentle intone. Isolde claimed of something faulty with her mouthpiece, as her instrument wouldn’t produce a sound when she blew.

 

Arthur took the flute from his student and inspected the instrument, firstly taking it apart and looking for any surface wounds – so to speak. He then took the mouthpiece into consideration at last and frowned. There was a bit broken at the tip.

 

He asked her if she maybe dropped it or banged it against something, to which Isolde gave a resolute, "No." He nodded and asked her to fetch one of his spare mouthpieces from his office, not favoring standing or moving at all just now.

 

Isolde returned with a new mouthpiece and Arthur instructed her to try it out. The sound came crisp and clear. She smiled, thanked him, and took her seat again.

 

Arthur directed his students from his seat for the entire hour and forty-five minutes left. If he detected any sly smirks or raised brows at his choice of teaching he ignored them in favor or ringing Merlin’s neck when he saw him next. 

 

 

 

 

            Another grimace appeared across Arthur’s face when took his seat beside Morgana. Meeting her for lunch, as he was known to do.

 

Morgana, the shrew, noticed at once. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms across her chest, bright red lips stretching into a grin. Evil and smug and unbearable.

 

“Not. A Word.” Arthur said through clenched teeth.

 

Morgana smiled even wider, with teeth. Positively feral. Her eyes gleamed, a deep pool of sea green. Victorious.

 

Thankfully she didn’t say another word. They ate in silence. It’s about the small miracles, really.

 

Before they went back to their respected teaching positions Morgana patted his hand gently. “Pulling the strings for your bum parties isn’t always so easy, dear brother. I hope you know that I expect a gift card for my hard work.”

 

With a wink she was up out of her seat and gone. Arthur was speechless.

 

 

 

 

            “Oh, that is too good.” Arthur heard Merlin’s voice and turned his head up in the direction of the sound. Merlin was leaning against his classroom door, amused it seemed.

 

“Merlin,” Arthur allowed. Very much miffed from all of today. From his students eyeing him like they knew exactly what had taken place the night before to his sister and her ridiculous notions that she was the sole responsible to have gotten him laid. Honestly, everyone has thoroughly lost their minds, Arthur included.

 

He hears Merlin shutting the front door to his classroom and taking the steps down to reach him, a wide grin on his face that Arthur can’t help glower at.

 

“I heard that you, er,” Merlin paused, lips pressing together. As if he was about to say something but thought better of it.

 

Arthur was not fond of this at all. “If you have something to say, Merlin, spit it out.”

 

Merlin seemed to find Arthur’s grumpiness even more amusing for his smile grew brilliant and blinding. Arthur was hardly immune and so his mouth started to respond, smiling in kind, before he could stop himself.

 

“The students,” Merlin informed him. “There was some comments about how you hadn’t stood up in class today. My fault, I presume?” He asked knowingly. 

 

“Oh, _entirely_.” Arthur said stiffly.

 

“I figured so,” Merlin shrugged the blame away and turned those bright, eager eyes towards Arthur. Plain interest in them, Arthur’s sure even a blind man could work it out. “Would you like me to do it again?”

 

“Merlin,” Arthur grumbled disbelievingly, “I can hardly sit my arse down on anything remotely solid without-”

 

“Ah, I misspoke.” Merlin interrupted, grinning. “I should have elaborated. What I meant to ask was: Would you like me to come over again only this time you do the honors?”

 

Arthur contemplated the proposition (and a glorious proposition it was). It proved an overly difficult scenario to get his imagination out of the gutter long enough to find a fault.

 

Merlin was having none of this idle adult reasoning, however. He prodded at Arthur, hurrying the decision making up impatiently.  

 

“We need to get some sleep by a sensible hour.” Arthur declared finally. “We’re adults, Merlin. We have responsibilities.”

 

Though Merlin nodded his head Arthur very much doubted his words were being taken into much consideration. He should have more of a problem with that. He really, really should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN2:** Um. Yeah. In case I have to explain the whole hopping-into-bed so quickly in this chapter, I'm referencing from a life lesson learned  & that is: Sleeping together can (in fact) be the uncomplicated part sometimes.


	11. And I Was On The Island & You Were There Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pillow talk. Or banter.
> 
> Fluff. This is fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AN:** It's getting dangerously domestic but Merlin  & Arthur don't know that. (Don't tell them.)
> 
> Chapter Title lyrics from FATM's 'St. Jude'

**ten** : _AND I WAS ON THE ISLAND & YOU WERE THERE TOO_ ;

 

           

            There was promise of paperwork getting done within the shared company had over the weekend. Of course, as Arthur sorted through his Winter Musical schedule, Merlin shoved most of his daily planners and music scores off the bed, straddling Arthur and well. That was the end of that. At the moment Merlin is stretched lazily across Arthur’s king-sized bed, smoking shamelessly in Arthur’s posh non-smokers apartment, and Arthur simply can’t be bothered.

 “Sorry,” said Merlin, more for the sake of apologizing than actually being sorry. Tapping at the end of his cigarette and exhaling rather obnoxiously. “Something has held my curiosity though,” Merlin admitted. “How exactly did you and Lance meet?”

Arthur, bone-tired but stupidly happy, pulled a face. Merlin stared and promptly put out the rest of his cigarette. He placed the ashtray on Arthur’s bedside and used the tip of his pinky to poke Arthur’s cheek gently. “What’s that about then?” Merlin demanded, spreading his body out over towards Arthur, the sheets wrapped around him falling away and barely concealing anything at all.  

Arthur had to force his attention away from _that_ obvious distraction and his chosen reply came as, “What’s what?”

“That,” Merlin poked him again, completely undeterred. “That not necessarily smile but rather more a pleasant form of grimace.” Arthur turned his face away and Merlin tutted, “Oi, you big buffoon.” He took hold of Arthur’s chin and turned the blond prat’s face back to look at him.

“ _Ex-excuse_ me?” Arthur pushed away Merlin’s hand. “Did you literally just call me a buffoon?”

“Brilliant to know you can comprehend such a word,” said Merlin dryly, “but honestly, no hiding, Arthur.” And then Merlin smiled. “Not when you’re just getting interesting.”

“You know, Merlin, you really know how to flatter a bloke.”

Merlin ignored that and said, “See, because when your heart is really behind a smile, you go full teeth. Like you’re up to challenge Michael Fassbender for shark of the year or something, I mean obviously you’ll lose but that’s beside the point. What your face – namely your mouth –  did just moments ago. That was more of a sneer. An _affectionate_ sneer, if ever possible, but a sneer nonetheless. So, go on. You tell me, what was that all about?”

And just like that, suddenly Arthur was the center of Merlin’s attention. Sure, Merlin paid attention to him. They’d been fucking and therefore awareness of your sexual partners comes with a sense of one another, keen intimacy will do that but _this_. Arthur feels his cheeks heat up when the sudden attention subsides and the true extent of Merlin’s words settle into his brain. Merlin’s rather unnerving attention to detail for one, how intuitively Merlin sees things. Sees him. Was he… moved at such observations? Spooked?

“Are you trying to prove how well an expert on my smiles you are?” Arthur joked, an evasion of sorts.

Merlin sighed. “I’m a writer, Arthur,” he reminded. “I observe. Pesky little trick of the trade.” And then, quietly. A confession. “I couldn’t turn it off even if I wanted to. It’s, um.” A frown quickly replaced Merlin’s excitement and Merlin squirmed as if he were the one under intense scrutiny. Arthur only just recognized the expression to be that of vulnerability and Gwaine’s words come to him unbidden. He’s moved to silence at the prospect that this could be a moment, a happening. A removing of Merlin’s so-called armor.

“I just, I see things,” Merlin continued. He didn’t dare make eye contact. “There’s this insatiable curiosity, right? And I can’t ever seem to stop myself. Noticing things. Many things, too many. Small things. Things people wish you’d miss because these things, they matter more often than the big things. And these things, private, intimate things, they all have stories. A heart attached and a lifeline and people… people generally aren’t too fond to unlock histories for a complete stranger, are they?” Merlin spares a glance at Arthur, eyes so skittish they flee his royal blues the second they catch them. Startled by anything he may see reflected in them. “Sorry if I’ve overstepped,” Merlin hurries to say. “I didn’t mean, I mean I don’t _intend_ to pry. It just... it happens.”

“Of course,” Arthur uttered, clearing his throat nervously for lack of a better response then looked down at the sheets of his bed pooled around his waist and caught in a tangle on Merlin’s own legs. Arthur feels a wave of gentleness seize hold of him.

Of course Merlin would catch onto insignificant things, things that no one else would. It had nothing to do with Arthur himself, not really, and that was okay. It’s not like these sudden sexual escapades they’ve each fallen prey to actually meant something. They liked each other, yes. It wasn’t true love or any of that other fairytale nonsense you grow up with as a kid.

 “You look weird when you’re thinking,” Merlin interrupted, causing Arthur’s mouth to split open in a fond grin. The emotion of such a response hurriedly tightened at Arthur’s chest.

It seemed every second spent with Merlin tied another knot around Arthur’s heart and Arthur is scared to realize he doesn’t quite mind. “Listen, you’re not imposing,” he reassured Merlin gently. His voice had gone all soft and small, as he can only remember it sounding in the days when he and Morgana were children up in the treehouse of their childhood home, hiding away from Uther for some reason or other.

“I’m sure it had to come up sooner or later,” Arthur said, brightening at the burning interest lighting up behind Merlin’s eyes. “Alright the thing is, I wasn’t exactly thrilling company the first time Lance and I met,” he admitted.

Merlin went positively doe-eyed, “How _utterly_ unsurprising.”

Arthur scoffed, plucking the pillow propped up behind him and flinging it at Merlin’s face. Merlin caught it easily and laughed. “I’ll have you know I am a joy to be around, _Mer_ lin. Besides, I think we both know it’s not in _my_ nature to go around antagonizing people like a -” Arthur hesitated on a word only to come up with the perfect description right on the spot, “Like a bloody _buffoon_ with no table manners to speak of.”

“First of all,” Merlin pointed out, “I only antagonize people who have it coming. Secondly, you had it coming.”

“How in the hell was I responsible for you choosing to chewing my head off?” Arthur exclaimed.

“You were pretty,” Merlin said, as if this was all self-explanatory and Arthur was a simpleton for not seeing it. “ _Too_ pretty.”

Arthur blanched and positively went warm all over with the way Merlin blinked at him from underneath those long dark lashes. He had absolutely no self-control, true, but apparently he didn’t care. Not if Merlin kept smirking at him like that.

“And I couldn’t let you go on getting away with that now could I?” said Merlin.

Arthur would under no circumstances agree to that reasoning. “We’re getting off topic,” he stated.

“Then go on and answer my inquiries,” Merlin replied.

“Alright now,” Arthur raised a brow. “No need to get snippy.”

And so Arthur told him how he first met Lancelot via Guinevere.

Gwen had introduced him at one of her dinners and Arthur, being protective and an actual douchebag at nineteen, had deluded himself into thinking he had any part in the decisions Guinevere made when it came to her love life. In short, Arthur made an absolute prat of himself. As for Lancelot? Once Arthur decided to be an actual human being, Lancelot gave Arthur a second chance, holding no judgements whatsoever. A true clean slate. From that point on Lance had earned himself a place in Arthur’s life, becoming the brother Arthur never had.

“Sound like him,” Merlin mused at the end of Arthur’s recollections. “And sounds like you, too.”

Arthur groaned, “You wound me.”

“You wound yourself,” Merlin corrected. “Dollophead.”

“Er, that’s not even a word, Merlin,” argued Arthur. “Writer my arse. Anyhow, your turn. Tell me something.”

“People I love just tend to… die,” Merlin said casually.

Arthur had a hard time deciphering if Merlin was serious or not. That dry wit of his could be hard to follow from one moment to another. “You are being over-dramatic on purpose, yes?”

Merlin rose a brow, “Am I being accused of in-authenticity about my personal losses?”

"No,” Arthur said quickly. “That is not the direction I was generally heading. It’s just… everyone has lost someone, Merlin. And unfair as it is, you’re not the center of the universe. Though you _are_ a writer so I suppose I should have expected this outlook of self-relevance.”

“Don’t think I won’t kick you out of this bed for being a prat,” Merlin warned.

Arthur very well knew that there was no point in reminding Merlin that this was in fact his bed. “Doubtless,” he agreed breezily. “On a serious note, loved ones happen to pass on. It’s the ultimate circumstance of living. No matter how I… or one may wish otherwise.”

Insulted or not, one could never really tell with Merlin, he quickly delved right back into Arthur’s history. “Fine,” he said, “I’ll bite. Who have you lost?”

“Well both of my parents are dead,” Arthur said, matter-of-fact. “My mum died when I was just a boy and my father,” Arthur took a moment to narrow it down. “I’d say he died little almost a year ago.”

“My mum and dad are dead as well,” Merlin revealed. “That literally makes us orphan lovers. Now, I can’t particularly say that happens often but then again maybe it does and I’m simply not aware enough to make those sort of declarations.”

Arthur broke out in another smile, “You are all sorts of odd, Merlin.”

“You’re the one having me over, lounging arsecrack naked in your bed,” Merlin reminded. “If anyone here has odd taste here it’s arguably you.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”


	12. Your Pain And Your Hunger, They're Driving You Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and feelings and evolution and, evidently, _hot for teacher_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter title from Eagles "Desperado")

**eleven** : YOUR PAIN AND YOUR HUNGER, THEY’RE DRIVING YOU HOME _;_

 

            As the month passes and then the following one, specifically time spent with Merlin, merges. Shifting them altogether into something completely other. Arthur comes to the realization that he spends more time with Merlin now than he spends alone, and _then_. Then, it gets harder not to take Merlin’s reluctance personal.

It’s outright plain to see that Merlin is loath to expose more of himself to Arthur than he already has. They see each other every day. Go to work together, head back to Arthur’s flat, watch a movie or some crap reality telly Merlin is obsessed with, they get off, eat. Sometimes Merlin sleeps over, sometimes he heads back to the hotel room his editor is paying for whilst he teaches, and as it goes on and on and on, Arthur can’t deny that he’s begun to covet more intimacy than that which they’ve previously shared. But fine, Arthur gets it. Arthur can even respect it. And they’re good as they are, which is more than he can say for any other relationship he’s been in.

Regardless of intentions, some things just happen to become noticeable when you constantly spend all of your time with someone. The shedding of an image becomes stark little capsules of reality.

Arthur doesn’t mention it at first. These small things that aren’t his to hold but that he determines to keep safe for as long as Merlin allows, small but large tells they are. Merlin’s idiosyncrasies are of a distinctly peculiar lot but Arthur finds a fierceness within them, perhaps even a slice of kinship wherein he sees himself reflected in Merlin’s downright endearing soul. He earns glimpses as to why Merlin is the way that he is. A bit cagey and always at the ready to laugh everything off or completely shutting down when Arthur asks a question he doesn’t want to answer. Intuitively, Merlin is all heart. Honest and raw and open, beautiful to Arthur’s eyes. He’s brave in a way Arthur wishes he could be. He disagrees with Arthur upfront, something not many have done and Arthur is helpless to falling in love with him just a bit for it.

He gets the sense that Merlin appreciates his observations going by silently, but then again who knows what the fuck goes through Merlin’s head on a regular basis. From what he confessed to Arthur that one time, too much. Probably.

 

 

 

 

            “Alright, see,” he and his current class heard Merlin’s voice before they actually saw the man himself.  This was becoming ridiculously common. Merlin interrupting his teaching period for some game at musing, to which Arthur was expected to be the one with all the answers. They’ve endured a season’s change with more of the same and less of the overly speculative _what the hell is this relationship_ freak-out. It’s a win-win situation and, for once, all those Arthur holds dear seem to leave him and in turn, them, to it. It’s the simplest non-relationship relationship Arthur can recall having with someone he fancies more and more as time passes.

“Right, okay so,” Merlin appeared at the doorway of his auditorium crossing his arms across his chest and looking down at Arthur with a barmy little smirk, “what’s the possibility of having people you love unconditionally and wholly, yet for one moment, one millisecond in time, hate them all so much you find yourself wishing they didn’t exist at all?”

The classroom broke out into its fit of giggles and the sort, as if they were a bundle of bloody teenagers with no sense of dignity whatsoever. Arthur most definitely had to shut that down _now_ , elsewise they’d get chummy and he’d have to dedicate a whole other hour they had left getting them to settle, all just so they could practice the music sheets set in front of them. It was for the winter holidays, the one Arthur was expected to pull off all on his own.

The college had become somewhat famous for putting on their Winter’s Seasonal and during Arthur’s tenure it has gotten the reputation of being rather sensational, if he does say so himself, and he very much does. He’s mentioned this conversationally to Merlin, about how he’s prone to lose his mind during the stress of it all, which apparently he hasn’t been specific enough.

Arthur attempted wholeheartedly to hide his irritation as he answered. “Merlin, I’m with a full class at the moment,” he said evenly. “Any questions you may have I’d like to direct you to my free hour, just as I do everyone else. So, if you please, I’d like to get back to teaching. Thank you.”

At that dismissal, the class quieted. They stared at Merlin who did not only remain as he was, lingering in the doorway of Arthur’s auditorium, only now he was glaring.   

“Anything else I can do for you, Merlin?” Arthur’s voice shook slightly with the worn edge of his frustrations, the question coming out sharper than intended but Arthur was past helping that.

“Meet me in my classroom during that free hour,” said Merlin, quickly disappearing back into the hallway and leaving Arthur’s class to titter excitedly to themselves over the happenings of the moment.

Arthur exhaled shakily, gripping the music sheets in his hands somewhat murderously before quieting his room full of pupils down with a rather pointed clearing of his throat.

 

 

 

 

            “Take off your trousers.”

Such are the words that Arthur is greeted with when he finally deems it appropriate to wander over to Merlin’s classroom.

He’s late, having lingered in his own company after class was finished and focusing on making plans for the following day. It helped to dissipate most of his unfairly placed agitation and to be perfectly honest, Arthur considers it time well wasted. Merlin should be thanking him.

“Excuse me?” Arthur retorts, maintaining an air of dignity wherein the conversation has apparently not.

“Excuse yourself,” Merlin snaps, unbuckling his belt and nodding his head over to the desk in front of him, “and bend over.”

“You are aware that you and I are not the only occupants left in the building, yes?” Arthur drifted closer anyway.

“Listen, you’re all buggered up. Being a diva with the stress of it all, or whatever. I just figure if you’re getting fucked by the system,” Merlin’s nose pinched up at his wording, highly amused with himself, and shucking away with his boots, “might as well.”

Arthur watched as Merlin stepped out of his trousers, pulling his pants along with it, leaving Merlin standing there with just his button-up and staring at Arthur with a tinge of annoyance. It was a good look, Arthur could hardly refute that.

“This is highly unprofessional,” Arthur said. “But not here, in your private offices maybe. Smaller spaces and one door, less likely to be caught upon,” he pointed out, pulling his shirt up over his head and casting it aside.

Merlin’s eyes roamed from Arthur’s chest down to his hips, “Nuh-uh. I want you to be visually stimulated while I’m worshiping you, Arthur. Besides, the danger of being caught will only help this scenario. Trust me.”

“You know,” Arthur promptly turned away from Merlin to lean upon the desk as instructed, “I can hardly take you seriously if you use words like ‘worship’.”

Merlin ignored that, reaching around to work at Arthur’s flies before pulling his pants down to his ankles. “You can’t tell me you’ve never had a fantasy where you fucked a teacher, that trope exists for a reason and I’m giving you a whole classroom for mood lighting. Silly of me to think you’d be grateful.”

Arthur laughed, enjoying the chatter immensely.

And so he let Merlin do as promised, knowing beyond reason that this was such a spectacularly bad idea. It was so wrong, and so right, and everything Arthur didn’t know he needed.

“Might as well, huh?” Arthur whispered, after.

“Might as well,” agreed Merlin, nipping at his ear, beaming. 

 

 

 

            The week of Winter Seaonal drums up and, unexpectedly, Merlin has to drop by his hotel room to grab some clothes. Arthur doesn’t miss the chance to accompany him, desperate for anything that will take his mind of the impending doom of performance anxiety that’s built for his students and himself.

Merlin’s room is disgraceful. Clothes thrown every which way and half eaten sandwiches lying on the furniture, bowls used for cigarettes and other things that make Arthur wince with unpleasantness. The bedding is undone and there are random pages strewn across the bed, half lived in by the looks of it. A right mess, this is.

Something catches his eye and Arthur reaches for it before he can stop himself.

Merlin’s voice startles him. “That...”

The impressive stack of pages, Arthur is surprised to find, weighed a decent amount in his hands. He glanced over to Merlin who was struck motionless, watching him, eyes weighing down on Arthur with something he refused to say. “That was the one and only time I decided to have a go at fantasy,” Merlin confessed with a frown. He gave Arthur the most nonchalant of shrugs, explaining, “It didn’t go so well.”

“Sorry,” Arthur blurted sheepishly, yet he couldn’t find it in him to put Merlin’s abandoned works back where he’d found them. Instead he clutched the unfinished tome to his chest protectively. “Would you mind if I, you know, um…. I mean, can I perhaps give it a once over?”

Merlin’s inscrutable stare held Arthur pinned at his spot for the longest time until finally Merlin relented, shrugging his bony shoulders, the gesture too stiff to be played off as unbothered.

“Go for it,” Merlin answered uncaringly. He turned his back, as if to hide from the pages for a moment, only to face Arthur again and pointing a finger at the works with a warning. “Do keep in mind that I never finished it or rewrote much so it’s utterly useless as a whole piece.” It was the most apologetic Arthur had ever seen Merlin. “But you go on ahead,” Merlin proceeded to wave the subject itself away. “Rubbish, though,” He muttered to himself, “utter rubbish.”

Arthur packed Merlin’s unfinished works away in the boot of his car, well away from Merlin’s sight, strangely excited.


End file.
